|
|
Meeting in the Wastelands
by Ivantico
"Hey Sarge! I've got four - no, five guys approaching
from the West!” the scout shouted.
The Guard Sergeant cursed. As if the merchant they were
escorting wasn't trouble enough, now he'll have to deal with possible raiders.
The caravan route between Modoc and the Den was usually a
milk run with nothing worse to fear that the odd family of radscorpions or pack
of molerats. To meet humans spelled trouble more often than not.
"OK, guys, ya know the drill. Form a circle 'round
the boss. They might be wanderers lookin' to trade, but if they make a wrong
move, waste 'em. Nick, you get back with the shotgun, Mike and Bill on the
sides, Joey in the front!"
"Awww, Sarge, you always stick me in the front! Can I
have one of those cushy spots, like Nick?"
"As soon as ya give up the drinkin' long enough to
save for a decent shotgun or rifle. I ain't puttin' my best guns up front to be
wasted by a tribal's spear. Now hop on to it!"
The men complied grudgingly but quickly. The Sergeant
smiled inwardly. They may not be the best trained or equipped, but they were
good men and you could rely on them to do the right thing when the going got
tough.
The circle formed, the Sergeant considered sending the
scout to the rear in case the five strangers were a decoy and that the main
force would be coming from behind, but he decided against it. If the decoy force
was that big, it wouldn't matter if he got surprised from the back or not. He'd
be dead.
Shaking his head, he cursed himself. Why the morbid
thoughts? It's probably a bunch of tribals looking for steel tools, rope,
stimpacks and maybe alcohol. He looked down the valley to the west, spotting
soon four human-looking forms. Where was the fifth? Ah, there it is - looks like
a boy.
"So what's the delay now?" complained the
merchant in his irritating, nasal voice.
"We've got some people approachin', sir. They jus'
might wanna trade, but they might be raiders.", the Sergeant explained.
"I've got to be in the Den in less than a week,
Sergeant! You know that! I can't stop to sell a bottle of booze to any drunken
tribal we run into!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but when ya hired us, I told ya that
if there's danger, I take over the caravan. This sure smells like danger to me,
and I'm takin' over!"
"I'll remember this, Sergeant, and you bet your ass
I'll comment it to the other merchants, also. And you can forget about that
bonus!"
The Sergeant winced, but held his ground. "I'm sorry
'n all, sir, but it jus' might be that these 'ere guys might wanna get a big
discount on yer wares, if ya know what I mean. Ya hired me to do a job, ya
better let me do it."
The merchant's face reddened, but in the end he turned
away and mumbled a curse under his breath. The Sergeant ignored it. For a moment
he wished he could just cut the idiot's throat, take his stuff and pawn it
somewhere like in New Reno, but that would finish his career as a caravan guard
in Modoc and the Den, and probably Vault City, too - Stark had an uncanny way of
finding these things out. He'd have to go all the way down to Broken Hills or
the NCR to get a job, and those runs were damned dangerous - he did his share of
them in his youth, and had enough of it.
Turning his attention from the still fuming merchant back
to the approaching figures, his eyes widened. These were not tribals.
Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, the closest
guy was eight feet tall. What the hell were those? Mutants? A glint of metal
gave him the answer. Even though the Brotherhood kept a low profile, he did
manage to see a Steel Knight in powered armour sneak into the Den a couple of
times. If it was the Brotherhood of Steel he was facing, they were probably
safe. If these were some renegades, or if some bandits managed to lay their
hands on power armour... he shuddered. No weapons that he or his men had could
even scratch the paint on one of those things.
Taking a step back, he saw his men were equally concerned.
"OK, guys, this is probably the Brotherhood, so
everythin' will be fine unless this idjit here went and did somethin' dumb. I
don't feel like pissin' off the Brotherhood, so if they want to take ‘im away,
they're welcome to it."
"Hey Sarge", Joey said. "If we go an' we
all shoot at the same guy at the same time --"
"We'll tickle 'im so much 'e'll die laughin'! Now
shut up an' do as I say!"
Meanwhile, the figures got near enough to discern details.
One of them was a Super Mutant, that was obvious now. Two of them were in
powered armour, and one of them was the weirdest human the Sarge had ever seen.
It soon dawned on him that it was not a human, but a "robot", or a
mechanical man. Where the hell did they find that thing? Why was it following
Brotherhood soldiers? How the hell did a Super Mutant get mixed with the
Brotherhood? Too many questions, none of which had an answer - and none of which
seemed important at the moment.
The obvious leader of the party was clad also in powered
armour, but this kind of armour the Sarge had never seen. It was black, and
bigger than the standard power armour, and looked a heck of a lot meaner.
Probably an advanced model, not that he could do anything against the older
model...
His training and experience soon took over and his doubts
and fears vanished. He took a few steps forward, gripping his AK-112 tighter.
"OK, people, no one gets near the boss with a weapon
in 'is hands. Jus' keep yer guns in yer holsters, an' yer hands where I can see
'em!"
With a soft whirring of power-assisted armour, the leader
lifted both empty hands, as if to show that he was unarmed - "Yeah,
right," the Sarge thought. "An' that thing strapped to yer back's not
a Minigun." - and then his right hand dropped close to the side holster.
The fingers around the Sarge's AK-112 went white, but he didn't lose control.
The leader, whatever it was under that armour, was also just being cautious. His
hand never touched the holster, but hovered near it close enough to make little
difference.
The speaker on the helmet buzzed into life. The Sarge
thought he heard a chuckle, but he wasn't sure if it was just the speaker
crackling. "No need to get excited, friend. We just want to get some
provisions and we'll be on our way." Even though the speaker gave a flat
sound to the leader's voice, the Sarge was instantly aware that under all that
ceramic and steel was a woman. His men realized this, also. He could hear
mumbling and snickering behind his back. He shot his men a furious glance, then
quickly turned his attention back.
"OK, lady, ya be havin' to ask the boss 'bout that.
Jus' keep yer weapons out o' yer hands an' in yer holsters an' everythin' will
be peachy."
Already drilled in the proper procedure, the front rank of
his men parted to let the woman through while covering the other four strangers.
The flanks and sides had their weapons pointed in the woman's general direction,
close enough to shoot her the instant foul play was detected and far enough not
to give offense. The Sarge was glad his men were smart enough not to piss off
the woman.
The woman approached the merchant, who scowled up to her.
"Hello, friend. I'm interested in getting some suppl--"
"Oh, I heard about you! You're the do-gooder that all
of the Den's buzzing about! You almost ruined me when you took out Metzger! I
don't want your kind around, so piss off!"
The Sarge's mouth fell open. Was the merchant on Jet or
was he just that stupid? Please God, let the woman just grin and take it... He
fancied he could see the huge steel shoulders tighten.
"I'm just sick and tired of every goddamn idiot
taking it out on me and not thinking about the consequences", the woman's
voice rang out, and the Sarge could hear the anger even through the flatness of
the speaker's modulation. "This was the last mistake you made in your
life."
Silence fell. The world slowed to a crawl. In what seemed
a slow motion, the woman took out a handgun from the holster. The unfamiliar,
spiraling barrel glinted in the sun. Ever so slowly, the arm raised the gun
until it pointed to the merchant's eyes. The merchant's angry, red face suddenly
lost it's colour.
Everything but the Sarge's heart thumping in his ears
seemed to freeze.
The world exploded into noise and chaos suddenly. A
whining, keening sound came from the gun, as the merchant's head was blown off
his shoulders. Before the headless body, thrown backwards by the force of the
impact, could fall on the ground, the Sarge started to shout.
"Hold yer fi--", but his shout was cut short by
the explosion of both barrels of Nick's shotgun. The woman staggered back with
the force of the impact, but immediately recovered and, apparently unhurt,
almost casually holstered the gun and reached behind her back.
"Hold yer fire! We don't want no more problems
here!" the Sarge managed finally to yell. Out of the corner of his eye, he
could see one of the other armoured figures grab a huge sledgehammer and run
towards them. The Super Mutant, who was unconcernedly whistling and mumbling to
himself all the time, unsheathed a nasty-looking gun and sent a greenish,
sizzling bolt right through the front plate of Nick's metal armour, his rib
cage, spine and the back plate. Nick crumpled, almost seeming to melt into a
foully smelling, charred heap.
"Hold yer fire, I tell ya!" the Sarge shouted
again. The woman raised her left hand in a signal to her companions.
"That'll do, Marcus. Sulik, hold it! Skynet, abort combat procedure!"
"What about me, boss?", a voice piped from the
third armoured figure.
"Just keep them covered, Vic. We don't really have a
fight with these people, do we?" she said, turning to face the Sergeant.
"Sorry about your man, but he was a bit trigger-happy... and so was
Marcus." she glanced towards the Super Mutant, who resumed his whistling
and mumbling as if nothing happened.
"No, Ma'm. The merchant guy was an idjit, an' now 'e's
dead, 'is contract's not bindin' anymore, if ya know what I mean. An' as for
Nick, well, I guess we get paid for takin' the risk."
"OK, but now it looks like you guys won't be getting
paid... Tell you what, I'll grab some food, and I'll be needing a shovel and
some rope - that was the reason I wanted to trade - and you guys can have the
rest. Sounds fair?"
"Fair 'nuff for me, Ma'm." The Sarge turned to
his men, who were all nodding their heads and looking greedily at the merchant's
bundles. "But will they go believin' me in the Den when I tell 'em what
happened? They'll say I did the idjit in, more likely 'n not"
"Don't worry. I'm going to Vault City and I'll talk
to Stark personally. He knows me. It's Vault City that worries you more than the
Den, right?"
"Ya got me right there, Ma'm. If you can get Stark to
vouch for me, I'm cool - and I'll probably get more business than I can
handle", the Sergeant grinned.
"It's settled, then. Let's go, guys! Skynet, commence
reconnoitering procedure. Fix coordinates for Vault City. Find us a good path,
we're late already!"
That night the small group was camping at the foot of a
hill, near a dried-out stream. The never-sleeping Skynet was standing guard,
while the humans have removed their armour and were stretching out, happy to be
out of it for a while.
The mutant was chewing on a piece of brahmin jerky,
looking intently at the girl.
"Was that necessary?" he said. "That
merchant was snotty, but was it so bad as to blow his head off?"
The girl looked at the horizon, not really seeing it. She
was formulating an answer. The mutant waited.
"There are lots of reasons, Marcus. First, I wanted
to send a message. No one screws around with me - if you'll pardon the pun"
she quickly added, seeing the sneer that was forming on Marcus's face.
"That Guard Sergeant will pass that message along
nicely. Second, that merchant was rotten through and through. He barely missed
his due when Sulik, Vic and me took out Metzger and his thugs in the Den. He
deserved it. The third, and maybe most important reason, has to do with
genetics."
"Genetics?" Marcus was puzzled.
"The human race was almost extinct after the bombs fell. Our gene pool is a lot smaller now." She smiled. "Don't you think that it's a good deed to remove from the gene pool a moron that doesn't even have the common sense to be polite to a lady wearing Enclave power armour and wielding a Vindicator Minigun?"